


Hiding in Plain Sight

by ObsessedtwibrarianOTB



Category: Original Work
Genre: Flash Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 08:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6366835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsessedtwibrarianOTB/pseuds/ObsessedtwibrarianOTB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do we defend against that which we cannot see?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hiding in Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

> First Line Prompt: "It's easy, pretending to be one of them; so easy that sometimes I almost believe it myself." (a 600 word limit)

It’s easy, pretending to be one of them; so easy that sometimes I almost believe it myself. 

I hang out with them. Laugh when they laugh. Complain when they complain, about term papers, exams, politics, or the vapid lives of the latest celebrity-of-the-week. Pretend I love lattes, skinny jeans, and the new artsy film showing downtown. It’s all superficial nonsense. I hold all of it, _and them_ , in utter contempt, but they don’t know that. They don’t even suspect that I’m not one of them, and never will be. 

She smiles at me. I smile warmly back. She’s beautiful, in a debauched kind of way. She gives her body to me, hot and willing, anytime I ask, believing I love her and we have a future together. Women are nothing but a biological necessity to me, a tool I use to satisfy my basest needs. I abhor it (and her), but watching porn is like trying to scratch an itch through a hundred layers of clothing—a poor substitute for the real thing. She’s useless and useful, both at the same time—which is a genuine moral dilemma for me—but unfortunately, she’s but one of many unpleasant things I must do in this life. What would she think if I spoke aloud my disgust for her looseness and the way she shames herself on a regular basis? She would be horrified. Shocked. They all would, because they feel safe in the knowledge that I’m one of them. I’m _that_ good at what I do. When I smile, they think I’m amused at something they said or did. They have no clue that I find them to be the most contemptible people I have ever known. They would shrink from me in terror if they knew what truth lay in my heart, the hatred I feel for them and their world. 

Innocuous. That’s the kind of guy I am. I blend. I shape myself to whatever worldly container I find myself in, like water molding itself smoothly to the sides of a glass. I’m handsome, open and warm. Non-threatening. _Their_ words, not mine. I’d felt shamed when those whom I respected the most had spoken those horrible words to me. Non-threatening was not what I yearned to be. But I’d been quickly reassured that my ability to adapt and fit in was my greatest strength, and the sole reason they’d chosen me. 

I turn my attention outward, tuning in to a sudden spike in the incessant chatter at our table. A sense of excitement begins to weave itself in and around our closely huddled forms. Our white breaths mingle with the lazy curl of cigarette smoke and steam from our mugs, as the news bubbles from one of them to the other. There’s a new band coming to town, one that I absolutely _must_ see, they exclaim, all innocent eyes and trusting smiles. Tickets are selling fast, they say, and they won’t even be here until November! I _must_ go, they insist. I couldn’t care less about their vile music; I loathe it, but I listen politely and force myself to float along with the tide of their unimportant machinations. But when I hear where this band will play and the potential number of people who will be there, I smile. 

The Bataclan Theater. Holds 1,500 people. Perfect. I will definitely be there, I tell them. 

And I also wish I could be there when they finally realize I was not one of them and never could be.

 


End file.
